Chapter 155
Chapter 155
Six months later.
---
The Landry Estate had been transformed.
White fabric draped from every archway. Thousands of flowers—peonies, roses, gardenias—spilled from arrangements lining the garden path. The afternoon sun filtered through the canopy of old oaks, casting dappled golden light across the rows of white chairs.
It was, by any measure, a perfect day for a wedding.
---
Cordelia stood before the full-length mirror in the bridal suite, barely breathing.
The dress was simple. Clean lines, ivory silk, a modest train. No beading, no lace, no elaborate embroidery. Logan had offered to fly in any designer she wanted. She'd chosen something understated instead.
The scars on her hands were visible. She'd considered gloves. Then she'd looked at those faded silver lines and thought: No. These are mine. They're part of the story.
"You look incredible," Sherry said from behind her, voice suspiciously thick.
"Don't you dare cry," Cordelia warned, catching Sherry's reflection. "If you start, I'll start, and then the makeup artist Logan hired at great personal expense will murder us both."
Sherry pressed her lips together and nodded rapidly.
A knock at the door. Three sharp raps.
"Come in," Cordelia called.
The door cracked open. Rhys stood in the gap, wearing a charcoal suit that had been tailored to his small frame. His dark hair was combed neatly to one side. He looked, Cordelia thought, like a miniature CEO.
"Mom." He said it without the old desperate edge. Just warmth. Quiet, earned warmth. "Kaida says it's almost time."
"I know. Come here."
He crossed the room, his serious little face studying her from shoes to veil. "You look different."
"Good different or bad different?"
He considered this with characteristic gravity. "Pretty different."
Something swelled in Cordelia's chest. She crouched down—carefully, mindful of the dress—and met his eyes at level.
"How are you feeling about today?"
Rhys thought about it. Really thought about it, the way Dr. Voss had taught him—checking in with his body, his breath, his heart.
"A little scared," he admitted. "But mostly happy."
Cordelia smoothed his lapel. "Scared of what?"
"That things will change."
"Some things will change. But the important things won't. I'll still be here. Logan will still be here. You'll still be stuck with Kaida."
That earned her a grimace so dramatic it bordered on theatrical. "Don't remind me."
She pulled him into a hug—gentle, unhurried, the kind she'd learned he needed. He stiffened for only a heartbeat before relaxing into it.
"Mom," he said against her shoulder. "I'm going to be better. I promise."
"You already are, sweetheart. Every single day."
---
A commotion erupted in the hallway. Rapid footsteps, a high-pitched voice, and then Yara burst through the door like a small pink hurricane.
"Mommy! Kaida says we're running late! Everyone's sitting down already!"
Her flower girl dress was a confection of pink tulle. It was also spectacularly wrinkled from what appeared to be an unsanctioned sprint across the estate grounds.
Cordelia looked at the state of her. "Yara. What happened to your dress?"
"I was racing Rhys."
Cordelia turned to Rhys. He had the decency to look mildly embarrassed.
"She challenged me," he said flatly. "I couldn't just lose."
"Who won?"
"I did," they both said simultaneously.
They glared at each other.
Cordelia sighed and stood. "We don't have time for this. Yara, hold still." She smoothed the worst of the wrinkles with quick, practiced hands. "Rhys, tuck your shirt back in."
Both children complied with minimal grumbling.
Cordelia took one last look in the mirror. Then she extended both hands—one to each child.
Rhys took her left. Yara took her right.
They walked out together.
---
The garden was packed.
Cordelia registered faces in a blur as she approached the aisle. Colleagues from the show. Logan's business associates. Neighbors she'd barely met. An overwhelming sea of people who'd come to witness something good.
In the front row, Bethel was already crying. She'd started during the processional music and showed no signs of stopping. Axel sat beside her, one arm around her shoulders, his expression a study in dignified emotion—which meant his eyes were suspiciously bright and his jaw was clamped shut.
"She's stunning," Bethel whispered to Axel, dabbing her eyes with an embroidered handkerchief. "Isn't she stunning?"
"Yes, dear."
"Our Logan doesn't deserve her."
"That's what I've been saying."
"Oh, hush."
Three rows back, Kaida was already a puddle. Sherry had run out of tissues two minutes into the ceremony and was now offering her sleeve.
Fox stood at the altar as best man, his posture military-straight, his expression the most professionally neutral it had ever been. His left eye was twitching from the effort of not smiling.
And at the end of the aisle, under an arch of white roses and trailing ivy—
Logan.
He stood with his hands clasped in front of him, watching her approach. The late afternoon light caught his face, and Cordelia saw something she'd never seen on him before.
Nervousness.
Logan Landry—who'd stared down boardroom rivals, confronted Nathan without flinching, and walked into a burning building without hesitation—was nervous.
When their eyes met, everything else fell away.
She walked toward him, one child on each side, her steps steady and sure.
He offered his hand. She took it.
"You're late," he murmured.
"Three minutes."
"Four. I counted."
"Liar."
His smile broke through like sunrise. "Guilty."
---
The officiant began. Cordelia heard the words through a pleasant haze—something about love, commitment, the joining of two lives.
She was too busy memorizing the way Logan looked at her. The way his thumb traced circles on the back of her hand. The way his voice dropped to almost nothing when he said his vows.
"I can't promise you a perfect life," he said, his eyes never leaving hers. "I can't promise there won't be fires or enemies or terrible hospital food."
A ripple of laughter from the guests.
"But I can promise you this: every single day, I will choose you. When things are easy. When things are hard. When you're brilliant and brave, and when you're stubborn and impossible—"
"Watch it," she whispered.
"—I will choose you. Because you are the only person who has ever made me want to be better than I am."
Cordelia blinked rapidly. "You said you forgot your speech."
"I lied. Fox wrote a very good one."
She laughed. It came out watery and undignified and perfect.
Her turn.
"Logan." She steadied herself. "Six months ago, you asked me to trust that I deserved to be loved well. I didn't believe you. I didn't know how."
Her gaze flickered to their joined hands—her scarred fingers intertwined with his steady ones.
"But you showed me. Not with grand gestures or expensive gifts. With patience. With consistency. With the way you hold my hand like it's the most natural thing in the world."
Her voice cracked. She pressed on.
"So here's my promise: I will love you honestly. I will fight for us when it's hard. And I will never, ever stop choosing you back."